


Ask Nicely

by dragonspell



Category: Dark Angel
Genre: M/M, Rape/Non-con References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-11
Updated: 2010-05-11
Packaged: 2017-10-20 00:22:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/206816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonspell/pseuds/dragonspell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alec wakes up in Logan's bed and wishes he could stay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ask Nicely

The sheets beneath me are soft and slick—expensive and they feel nice against my naked body. In the middle of the night, I’d decided that they’d felt so good that I’d even slipped out of my boxers, dropping them on the floor next to the bed. I could say a lot of things about Logan but not knowing his creature comforts isn’t one of them. Maybe I should have asked before stripping naked in his bed but I don’t think Logan will mind. He’s a nice guy like that.

I grin lazily as I briefly entertain the idea of him finding out my lack of clothing for himself. I bet he’d be soft, too. Gentle. I wonder if he’d join me if I asked nicely. The thought makes me chuckle and I roll over onto my back.

I stretch, my arms rising above my head as I slowly wake up. The sun gleams faintly in the room, lighting upon just one side of the bed and I luxuriate in it like the cat that’s in my DNA. I almost feel like I could purr. I’m tempted to just lay here forever—to let all of my troubles fade away, securely locked in Logan’s high-rise apartment, safe in his bed. I flutter my eyes open and smile at the ceiling. That’s just the crux of it, though, isn’t it? Because where there’s a Logan, there’s always a Max.

Which means that the safest place for me probably isn’t in Logan’s bed. Even if I did ask nicely.

I can smell the faint hint of waffles and a sweet fruit and I breathe in deeply. It smells absolutely delicious. I suppose Logan’s expecting me to get up now.

I decide to humor him—it would be the nice thing to do since he’s made the effort—and slowly slide my way out of his bed. It’s hard to leave such comfortable warmth but I do it. I stretch again, my toes curling against his smooth warm floor as I yawn. I’ve got to say that last night was the soundest that I’ve slept in a long while. I wonder if Logan will let me do it again sometime. Maybe. If I ask nice enough.

Breakfast is waiting for me, sure to be done soon, but I decide to hop a shower first instead. Logan, besides having the nicest bedsheets I’ve ever slept on, has also got a great shower. It’s one of those kinds that come at you from all sides, all wonderful pressure and I dare you not to love it.

I took a shower just last night but I want to take one again—his shower’s that nice. Plus, I’m still not sure if I got all of that bastard’s come out of me.

I grimace and shove last night out of my mind because all that matters right now is this morning—the fact that I slept as soundly as a baby, the fact that Logan’s making breakfast for me, and the fact that there’s a nice, hot shower calling my name.

So I step inside Logan’s master bathroom and slide the shower door closed. The water spins out of the multiple heads and I’m in absolute heaven for approximately seven minutes. I make sure that I scrub myself completely over from head to toe, wanting myself to be so clean I sparkle. Best impressions and all that.

When I emerge from the shower, I feel rejuvenated and though I only spent a few minutes under the hot spray, the steam is enough to fog the mirror. I swipe a hand over the clouded glass in front of me and grin at myself, loving the blemish free reflection that smiles back. Yeah. My life can be pretty sweet sometimes.

I grab a plush blue towel off of Logan’s rack and wrap it around my waist, more for his benefit than mine. I’d dare say that I’d be perfectly comfortable walking around in this place completely naked. It’s just that nice of an apartment. My clothes are either in the wash or scrapped—I don’t particularly care which—except for my boxers which are still lying incriminatingly on Logan’s floor. It’s horrible but I want to leave them there—just to see what Max will do.

When I walk out in the kitchen, Logan’s standing at the stove, stirring a small pot. He looks up at me and smiles gently. “Feeling better?” he asks and I lean against the counter.

“Yeah,” I tell him. “Thanks for letting me stay.”

Logan nods. “Not a problem.” He sets the spoon down on his little holder and gestures towards me. “How’s—how’s the face?”

At his reminder, my hand flies instinctively up to my cheek, fingertips prodding. I know there’s nothing there—there’s no remnants of last night’s mistakes covering my face and I thank transgenic healing. I just have a lingering soreness that I’m sure will disappear by this afternoon. I’ve given myself away but I still drop my hand quickly, not wanting to admit to anymore weakness or vanity than I already have. I shrug. “Feels fine.”

“Yeah?” Logan asks, turning back to his bubbling pot. “That’s good. You were…”

“A mess last night?” I finish for him.

“I wasn’t going to say it.”

I shrug again and sit on a stool he’s got tucked away in the corner. “It’s fine,” I tell him. It is because the guy’s dead. I might not have come out looking too pretty last night but at least I had won and in the world of transgenics, that’s all that matters. Sure it rankled that he’d gotten one up on me— _fucked me_ a voice supplies helpfully before I repress it—but I’d gotten the bastard back. “So what’s for breakfast?” I ask. “It smells great.”

Logan smiles again, content to let the subject of my condition drop as he launches into a recipe that I quickly tune out. I smile at him and nod in the right places while I pretend I’m not still relieving last night.

It’d been a stupid mistake. If there was anything Manticore had taught me it was not to trust anyone—and that didn’t matter who they were. It didn’t matter if you didn’t consider them a threat or even if they were supposed to be your ally—you didn’t trust _anyone_. And that meant not turning your back on them either. The guy had been friendly enough and he was an ordinary—nothing I should have had to worry about. I could have taken him with both hands tied behind my back.

That was, of course, until the bastard drugged me. Never even saw it coming. Just one minute I was having a drink with him and the next I noticed my liquor tasted a little funny and the world was spinning.

It was my own fault. I shouldn’t have trusted him. I still should have been able to take him. I did, actually—snapped the bastard’s neck. That would have been after he fucked me in his scummy little apartment, though. Took me that long to come down from whatever he’d given me. If I would have been an ordinary, it probably would have taken me hours to recover. As it was, I’d been too weak to fend him off, all lax arms and too slow movements until he finally came inside me and let his guard down.

I don’t know why I went to Logan’s. I guess I just figured that I needed a good shower and he probably had the best one in town. He should have turned me out onto the street but he’d taken one look at my face, at the fact that for once I didn’t have a snappy comeback for him, and welcomed in the lost, lonely stray. I’d asked nicely, after all. He’d even let me sleep in his bed, warm and comfortable as I recovered.

Which would put me here, in his apartment, sitting at his little breakfast nook eating the strawberry covered waffles he made me. I feel something scarily close to contentment. It terrifies me because right beside it I feel a pang of loneliness and jealousy. Logan’s a great guy—but he isn’t doing this for me. He’s doing it because that’s just what he does.

I don’t have any stake in him. I don’t have any claim. He belongs to Max and I’m just a quick-fix substitute.

I still smile and nod in the right places as we make pleasant small talk and I pretend that I’m not desperately wishing that I was back in his bed. That I had a right to stay there. I want to stretch out on the soft sheets in the warm sun and pretend that the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

Logan would probably let me, though. If I asked nicely.  



End file.
